So in case you were wondering why there was a gap in my bloggage (and of course you were, because this biotch cannot shut up when it comes to the Internet), it turns out I was preoccupied with some housey-house stuff this weekend.
Namely, the fact that my house was 50 degrees all weekend.
Here's how the saga begins. On Thursday night, it becomes obvious during a reality TV marathon (classy reality TV, for the record -- Heavy, not Keeping Up With The Kardashians) that the furnace is blowing cold air. Our conclusion that the pilot light was out was correct; however, it was far from the only thing wrong with the furnace.
As it turned out, the gas company never turned on the gas at my house, and I didn't know since I was on autopay at my old apartment and I have no sense of fiscal responsibility because I rarely, if ever, check my online balances (please don't steal my identity, Internet.) A snarky customer service representative berated me for my lack of foresight (though, to be fair to me, I did ask to have the gas turned on waaaaaaay back in June, and that seems like a boatload of foresight) and told me they could turn the gas on sometime Monday.
Thank goodness I grew up with all those stories of pioneers who froze their footsies off, because otherwise, I think I would have gotten quite hyperbolic over my ordeal of huddling under a comforter with Spence, pointing three space heaters in my direction, and turning on Scream 4 ... only to blow a fuse and be without heat or power. Curse me for forgetting to buy that Duraflame at the grocery store!
The good thing is, the heat is on (sorta ... that's a longer story altogether) and three days without warmth gave me a lot of personal fortitude. I'm now totes ready that an apocalypse that is non-zombie based (e.g., Cormac McCarthy apocalypse). I ordered my Dutch oven on Overstock yesterday.*